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Draco Malfoy lived a rather quiet existence. Just him and his cat in a little flat in London. He was twenty-three and, honestly, surprisingly content with his existence. Vaguely, he knew that his life wasn’t exactly normal for a twenty-two year old. Some of the people he went to school with were already married and some already had children, but it didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would.
Every morning he made his bed, ate breakfast alone, and walked down the street to the muggle entrance to St. Mungo’s. Each time he got a little thrill of doing things the muggle way. Not that he liked it or preferred. He didn’t have some strange fascination with muggles like some wizards did. More like...he liked to imagine what his father or his Aunt Bella’s faces would look like if they ever discovered that this was the life he had chosen. Working for a wage, living in muggle london, taking the Floo twice a month to visit his mother in her little cottage in Wales, and doing anything possible to ignore his last name.
Sometimes it was impossible. The few times he accompanied his mother to Azkaban to visit his father. The biannual invasion of Aurors into his flat. One a year when he was forced, as administrator of the Malfoy fortune, to tour his vault and insure the proper fines were being paid for his family’s crimes. While most of his colleagues in the basement potions lab of St. Mungo’s had long grown unbothered by his presence (only speaking to him in gruff tones, but that was how they all communicated. You need to be a specific kind of person to lean over a cauldron all day), the few occasions that a healer or mediwizard came down from the main floor he was faced with cautious stares and sneers.
There were very few visitors he didn’t mind. Every month Neville Longbottom came around with deliveries from the Hogwarts greenhouses. It wasn’t that they were friends, exactly, but he would stick around for lunch. They would eat in genial silence. He knew, even if Neville had never brought it up, that his old classmate had testified on his behalf during his trial. That he had been “not as big of a git as he could have been” and “there were far worse bullies that year” and ‘why did you bring them here? Just because they didn’t have a mark doesn’t mean they weren’t monsters.” Draco thought he should be irate that Neville Longbottom of all people pitied him, but honestly he didn’t care. He just liked the company.
Margot Anderson, the retired chief of St. Mungo’s potions lab, was another visitor he didn’t mind. She had been friends with his mum at school, despite her most duplicitous status as a muggle-born. His mother had kept up her correspondence with Margot even during the war. He hadn’t known this until it came out during the trial, but in the name of their old friendship Narcissa had arranged for Margot to be taken care of in France. It was Chief Anderson who had pulled the strings to get him the position at St. Mungos, even with his record. So he didn’t mind when Margot came around. He actually would say he liked it.
There was a third visitor that Draco admitted he actually waited for.
Astoria Greengrass.
Astoria Greengrass was a mediwitch from what felt like a hundred floors above him for all he saw her. They had known each other in school and through their families, even though she was in Ravenclaw and two years below him. Actually in his seventh year he had become rather close with her older sister who was his age. Daphne was a Slytherin who had made a conscious decision to remain out of the war. She, like Blaise and sometimes Theo Nott, had done her best to turn a blind eye to Weasley and Longbottom’s gang without making too much of an uproar.
Astoria technically had as well, but he heard rumors about her stepping up as a healer for Dumbledore’s Army on more than one occasion. Their family wasn’t as old as his and didn’t have the same history so the Greengrasses had managed to come out relatively unscathed. To his understanding, their parents were rather like his mother. Never truly believed the rhetoric their families had preached. Their alliances were pragmatic. Their beliefs changed to the fashion of the day.
Daphne and Astoria were different. He knew that the torture their classmates suffered had brought the same amount of illness to them as it had to them. Astoria especially. She couldn’t bear to see someone being hurt without cause.
He waited with bated breath when a healer emerged from the wards twice a week to collect the new batch of potions, hoping to see her face instead of some witch with wide eyes and obnoxious giggles. When it was Astoria, they shared a small smile and she asked him how his mother was. Georgina Greengrass was another one of his mother’s surprising school friends. She was closer to the type of person you would expect Narcissa Malfoy nee Black to associate with, at least blood status wise, but her temperament was far different. Chief Anderson was at least as stoically serene as his mum. Mrs. Greengrass had a constant nervous energy, although neither of her daughters had inherited it.
“Good morning, Draco.” Astoria said kindly when she appeared on the steps that day.
He forced a smile, pushing down the rising blush in his cheeks. “Healer Greengrass. We had some problems with the Skele Gro this week, so I’ve had to redo it. Should be ready in a few minutes. I could have someone bring it up to you.” He liked to avoid the upper levels at all costs. The stares had somewhat lessened as the reminder of his family’s involvement in the wars faded from memory just as his and his mother’s public image had disappeared from the Wizarding World. But he had an unfortunate tendency to run into someone he really didn’t want to face whenever he went upstairs. Another reason why he now favored muggle London. There were fewer prying eyes.
“I’m fine to wait.”
Draco nodded stiffly. Turning his eyes back to his cauldron, he tried to stop his attention from drifting from the rather complicated potion in front of him to the pretty healer sitting across from him.
He had never known it to be this...irritating. The two-ish relationships he’d had in his life had been nothing like this. At school Pansy Parkinson was a passing fantasy, a shameful way of building himself up. In sixth and seventh year she had been a distraction from the guilt brewing in his stomach. Technically, she would have been the ideal future wife if his father had got his way, but she was almost as crazy as his Aunt Bella. Then there was this muggle girl down the hall from him at his flat. She had been a few nights where both of them seemed to be using the other to forget something.
Astoria...she made him feel things that he didn’t know he still could. Desires, dreams, the likes of which he hadn’t felt since the three month period in fourth year where he was desperately and dangerously in love with Hermione Granger. He knew it would pass, just like that infatuation had. He prayed it would pass. Because he couldn’t ruin someone like his father had destroyed his mother. Especially not Astoria.
“Your mum is good?” She asked.
“Hmmm? Oh, yeah. She’s fine.”
“Still at the cottage in Dover?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure the ocean air is good for her. My aunt had a house in Dover when I was little. I used to love the smell.” Astoria explained, wandering around the laboratory.
It was a good deal cleaner than the Potions classroom at Hogwarts, the only indication of potioneering Draco’d had when he got the job. The medical regulation ensured that. Some people believed a layer of musk in the air was good for potions, but the healer at St. Mungo’s were very particular with their cleanliness.
“How’s Daphne?” Draco asked in a shameless ploy to hear more of Astoria’s voice.
She rolled her eyes goodnaturedly. “Still toiling around Europe. She’s been sending me letters. Seems in every one there’s another love interest.”
“She broke up with the girl in York?”
Astoria gave a weary smirk. “No, not technically, but I’m not sure she realizes that. How about Blaize?”
He chuckled. “Roughly the same. If he didn’t prefer men and she didn’t prefer women, I’d say they were perfect for each other.”
“Daphne claims she doesn’t prefer women.”Astoria continued in a spot-on impression of her sister. “‘It’s called experimentation, darling. I’m living my twenties.’ Experimentation my arse. That girl hasn’t looked at a man once in the last three years.”
Draco laughed, but closed his mouth suddenly. When was the last time he did that? “Do you think she’s avoiding it because of your parents?” He said, trying to fill the gap of his awkward pause.
“I honestly don’t think mum and dad would care. It’s not like they don’t know what she’s been doing in Europe. If you ask me,” Her voice became vaguely conspiratorial. “She’s in love with someone back home and doesn’t want to admit it's not just a fancy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The one in York?”
Astoria snorted. “Definitely not. No, I’m thinking someone from Hogwarts. All this rubbish about ‘experimentation’ started after she went back to redo her seventh year.” She paused, looking at him curiously. “You didn’t go back for the extra year, did you? I don’t remember you being there.”
Draco swallowed thickly and shook his head. “I wanted to--I mean, I thought about it. I just...there were extenuating circumstances.”
She didn’t press, for which he was eternally grateful. The truth was he had spent the year he should have been making up his seventh term in house arrest with his mother. He supposed he should be grateful. Thanks to testimony he knew he didn’t deserve, he got a year of house arrest and lifelong oversight. His father got seven years in Azkaban, which was up in one year. At the time, he almost believed his father wasn’t going to survive that sentence, but apparently Lucius Malfoy’s stubbornness had no limit. Now Draco was pretty sure his father was going to drop dead the day after he was released, just to spite the wizarding community. That proud, foolish man refused to die in prison.
“You didn’t miss much.” Astoria continued without skipping a beat. “It was rather strange, you know. Not a lot came back, and the ones that did...they weren’t the same. No one was the same. Not to mention they were rebuilding the castle around us which was a whole other issue.” She laughed like she was remembering an old story. “It was nice to have a sane Defense teacher, though. I mean, Snape wasn’t all that bad, at least for the Ravenclaws. But I’m certain the Gryffindors had a different experience. And Moody was an imposter, but I guess we still learned some stuff. I just missed Professor Lupin.” She sighed. “He was it my first year. Gave us all unrealistic standards for future Defense teachers. I heard he died in the final battle.”
Draco nodded grimly. He knew all too well the fate of Remus Lupin, certainly the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher he had ever had. On a whim of loneliness (and riding on a bit of liquid courage) during their house arrest, his mother had sent a note to her estranged sister, Andromeda Tonks. Their correspondence had been corial at best in the beginning, but slowly developed in something more. Then his aunt had started coming around for tea. The pair had strangely been united by an unlikely common goal. Sirius Black. His mother and her sister had developed a single-minded ambition to clear their cousin’s name. Eventually, as new information surfaced, his younger brother, Regulus, joined the list of people they declared deserved posthumous pardons.
Through that connection he had become acquainted with his cousin, Lupin’s son, Teddy. On paper, he should have despised the little boy. What wasn’t his blood-traitor mother and half-breed father, was Harry fucking Potter. But there was something about Teddy Lupin that he couldn’t help but like. Andromeda had a similar effect. He wondered if his cousin Nymphadora was like that as well. He supposed he would never have the privilege to know.
“I agree. It is a shame Professor Lupin only taught for one year.” He said, banishing from his mind the letter he received from his father at the end of his third year.
Dear son,
I’ve insured that the farce of a teacher Dumbledore has hired will have no place at this school. Never fear, Draco, that dreadful half-breed will not be coming back next year.
The letter had continued so casually, like Lucius’s implication of ruining a man’s livelihood was
as common as reporting the weather.
“Uh, Draco. I don’t mean to question your process, but is that potion ready yet?” Astoria asked shyly.
“Oh,” fuck . He swallowed the second part just in time. The final iteration of his potion had been brewing for far too long. He had long since lost track of how many times counterclockwise rotations he had made. Almost definitely, the final product was completely ruined. “Oh my, it’s not meant to be that color. It must be the gurdyroot again.” He lied. “We were having trouble with it earlier this week, as well. Do you think the ward can last another day without replenishing its stocks?”
Astoria gave a half smile. “As long as we don’t have a sudden outbreak of missing-bone syndrome, I think we’ll be alright.”
He wasn’t entirely sure she was joking, but he offered a cursory chuckle.
“You know Draco...you might not get as distracted if you actually asked me out one of these times.”
He almost dropped his wand into the now gurgling potion. “I don’t--I mean--I have no--I...what?”
“If you asked me out. It might help you concentrate, I think.”
“You--I mean...you knew about that?”
Astoria smiled gently. “Haven’t you ever wondered why I’m usually the one to come fetch the ward’s stock?”
He sputtered. This was not him. He didn’t not sputter . “I guess, I just...um, no?”
“I like seeing you as much as I hope you like seeing me.” She said with a growing grin.
“I umm, you wouldn’t mind?” He cleared his throat, regaining the composure that had been drilled into him since he was a child. “Would you like to go out with me?”
“Of course. I’ll meet you outside after work? Maybe we could grab something at the curry place down the street?”
“Yes, yes, absolutely.” He said eagerly.
“Okay, I’ll see you then.” Astoria said, picking up the basket of potions, sans Skele Gro.
“Uh, Astoria?” He stopped her just as she was about to vanish back up to the ward. “I’m not sure asking you out is going to help my concentration.”
She smiled. “Worth a try.”
He was keenly aware of the lazy smile left glowing on his face.
“Well that was sweet.”
Draco groaned. “Longbottom.”
“Oh, yes. It’s that time of month again where you get to see my lovely mug.” Longbottom fully appeared in view, carting a large stockpile of various plants and herbs behind him. “Did you say the gurdyroot was bad this week? I thought that month’s batch was pretty healthy.”
He glared. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough to decide I’ll be starting a fanclub.”
“Not. A. Word.” Draco said vehemently.
“Oh believe me, Malfoy. I don’t usually like to publicize our little chats. I won’t tell a soul.” His smirk softened into something akin to a fond smile. “You really like her don’t you?”
“I like her fine. What would give you a different impression?”
Longbottom raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you hate curry with a burning passion? Particularly the place down the street.”
Draco sighed, a private smile still glued to his face. “Yes.”